A Set of Wings to Reunite Us
by Ariah 'Watson-Holmes
Summary: Wing!Lock AU. Sherlock is a fallen angel. He uses this to his advantage when Moriarty gives him the ultimatum. His life or John's. What will happen to John while Sherlock is away? What will their reunion be like? Will John ever find out Sherlock's secret? Trigger warning: Mentions of attempted suicide and violence. Eventual Supernatural Post Season 8 crossover.
1. The Fallen Angel

Sherlock always hated his wings. They served as a reminder to what… no, who he was. They were always there, but to the common eye, they were invisible. No one could see them, or touch them. At one time, years ago, they were beautiful wings. Now though, they were blacker than any of the others. Well, than most.  
Moriarty never even knew how close to the truth he was when he told Sherlock that he was on the side of the angels. Sherlock had been at one time. Then again, Sherlock was an angel. Just he had fallen years ago. Mycroft had been the one to find Sherlock when he was thrown out of Heaven. He took him to the Holmes estate where Mummy Holmes decided to adopt Sherlock and create a whole back story about him.  
They knew, Mummy and Mycroft, about who/ what he really was. Sherlock had told them shortly after they took him in. Molly knew now as well. Sherlock decided to tell her as they planned how he was going to fake his death. He showed her his wings, which took a lot more effort than he remembered. She hadn't been scared by them. She only asked John knew.  
_John._  
_You're doing this for him Sherlock._  
Sherlock explained to Molly about how he wanted to tell John and show him his wings, but…. Moriarty came along. Sherlock was able to figure out his plan. He couldn't tell John. Even though he wanted to so badly. John made him feel… nice. He felt loved. After being tossed aside by his brothers and sisters. Well most of them. Gabriel and Castiel had visited him a few times over the years. Though, Gabriel was dead now and apparently Castiel was helping two American brothers to stop the Leviathans from opening up Purgatory. Sherlock hadn't heard Castiel in months, which was beginning to scare him. He loved talking with Castiel about John. Castiel loved to talk about Dean with Sherlock. Two angels (one fallen) in love with humans.  
_Don't let your thoughts run away. Focus now Sherlock. You need to call him. Find a way to warn him. You need to hear his voice one last time. So if this all fails, if your wings don't help, your last memory will be of you talking to him. This is why you're doing this. John. You need to save John._  
Sherlock calls John. One of the only contacts in his phone. Sherlock begins to cry during the conversation.  
_Warn him._  
"It's just a trick. It's all a magic trick." Sherlock tells John. The conversation ends.  
_Now. You have to complete Moriarty's story. You'll see John again someday._  
Sherlock falls. Four stories off the roof of St. Bart's. Folding his wings around him, cocooning him from any severe damage that would happen from a fall such as this, Sherlock hits the pavement. The force of the fall causing the strategically placed blood packets to break. Sherlock had placed a small rubber ball under his right arm, so when John tries to check his pulse, there won't be one to find.


	2. To Live Without Him

John stared at the headstone. He came here every week since _his_ death. He still couldn't believe it. After a year, he still couldn't accept Sher-_ his_ death. John couldn't even bring himself to say _his_ name.  
_I loved you. You probably would've told me something about sentiment being horrible or pointless if you had known about that. But I still loved you. Nothing will ever change that. Nothing._  
John salutes the headstone and walks back to the cab. He doesn't live at 221B anymore. He couldn't stand living there after it happened. Too many memories. Too much guilt. He moved out after the first failed suicide attempt.  
John had tried to commit suicide five times in the past year. Only to be thwarted by Mycroft, Lestrade, or Molly each time. He would've succeeded the first time if Mrs. Hudson hadn't decided to check on him. He was sorry for making Mrs. Hudson see that.  
John walked back into his small flat and sat down in his armchair. He stared at the one across from him. He had brought both armchairs and_ his_ violin with him when he moved. It made John feel a little better. Like there was a chance for _him_ to return. If... if John didn't get rid of anything. If he kept some of _his_ things. John still made two cups of tea, out of habit. Each time, he dumped the second cup into the sink.  
He had quit his job at the clinic. Well... more like Sarah warned him that he was going to be fired soon, so John decided to save them time and quit. He couldn't handle the looks that everyone gave him. He heard whispers to. 'S_uch a shame. He must have been so fooled._' '_Must not be that bright then._' 'I_ hear that he believes that Sherlock wasn't a fraud._' Of course what did they know? They didn't know _him_ like John did. Well... Like John thought he did.  
John thinks back to their last conversation. He actually thinks about it a lot. '_It's just a trick. It's all a magic trick._' The words repeat themselves over and over in John's head._ What if _he_ isn't dead? What if _he_ was actually trying to warn me? What about though? It's not like there is some special book made on how to decode _his_ messages. If only. If only I could talk to _him_ one last time. Maybe if during that phone call I had told _him_. If I had told _him_ about my feelings, would _he_ still be alive? Probably not. _He_ wouldn't have cared. _He_ would still be dead._  
John spends the next six months in a zombie like state. He gets up, gets dressed, eats (very little), then sits in his chair and stares at the chair across from his. He sighs and thinks about how he wishes that this Christmas could be like the one he had two years ago. Even though that Christmas hadn't gone the best. With all of the problems the Woman has caused, but it had been his first Christmas with _him_.  
Christmas. How is he supposed to be happy about it when he can't get over what happened?  
He stares at his phone. He has only texted one person on it since that day. The one person whose number only bounced texts back. He can't stop texting the number though.  
_I know that it's pointless to keep texting you, but I can't stop texting you. I don't know how much longer I can survive Sherlock. Merry Christmas. JW_  
John sits and patiently waits for the error message to come through.


	3. The Fight Comes to an End

Moran was finally dead and Sherlock was nervous. After a year and a half, he was coming back. He could finally tell John that he was still alive. He reached to pull out his phone when he felt it vibrate. He read John's text, his heart breaking. He could tell John the truth now though.  
_Merry Christmas John. -SH_  
Sherlock was standing outside of John's new flat. He could hear the disbelief coming from John when he received the text.  
_This isn't funny. He's dead. JW_  
_John, it's really me. I can prove it. -SH_  
_Fine, if you're really him then you can easily answer these two questions. What were your first words to me, and what were my last words to your face? JW_  
_Technically my first words to you were 'Thank you,' but really they were 'Afghanistan or Iraq?' Your last words to me, they were 'Friends protect people.' -SH_  
Sherlock heard John's phone fall onto the ground. He panicked slightly and moved to open the door when he heard John move to pick the phone back up.  
_Where are you? JW_  
_Outside your flat. -SH_  
_Your new flat. Mycroft told me that you moved. -SH_  
_Of course. Gimme a bit and I'll get the door for you. JW_  
Sherlock frowned when he heard John start moving towards the door slowly. He's using his cane again. But I had cured him of his limp. Why would it return? My death wasn't supposed to affect him that badly.  
John finally stopped at the door and Sherlock prepared himself. Slowly, John opened the door until he saw Sherlock. His cane fell onto the floor.  
"John." Sherlock's voice cracked. He couldn't help, but to deduce John. _Quit his job at the clinic, distancing himself from everyone, severe depression, several attempted suicides (why didn't Mycroft or Molly tell me about this?), and his limp is back. Oh John, what have I done to you?_  
John stared at Sherlock in disbelief. He reached out and laid his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "You're real. You're actually here." John's face twisted into one of anger. "You prick! You left me here all alone for over a year!" John punched him square in the jaw and then slammed the door in his face.  
Sherlock had expected the punch from John. He stumbled back a bit before standing back up and staring as the door slammed in his face. He walked over and leaned against the door, his forehead resting on his arm.  
"I'm sorry John. I really am, but I had no choice." Sherlock felt the tears roll down his burning cheek. "I never wanted to leave you. Trust me."  
John heard Sherlock crying._ Now there's something unexpected. Sherlock never cries._ John got up and opened the door again. His eyes were blurry from tears. "Why?" His voice cracking. "Why did you leave? You say you had no choice, so why was that? I almost killed myself Sherlock! Several times in fact!"  
Sherlock stared at John, his eyes still wet. "Because if I didn't fake my death, I would've had to bury you!" Sherlock moved his gaze downwards to the floor. "I couldn't bare the thought of losing you like that, so I faked my own death. It was my life or yours John, and I chose to protect yours."  
John gaped at Sherlock, his tears beginning to stop." W-w-what do you mean my life was on the line? I can take care of myself Sherlock. I was a soldier, remember?"  
Sherlock huffed and looked up at John again. "On the roof, Moriarty told me that he had three gunmen in London trained on Lestrade, , and you. Jump, you live, don't and..."  
"We die. You chose us over your own life."  
"Exactly. I knew that he would try to pull something like this because that's is the kind of person he was. I just didn't know that he would find a way that would really convince me to take my life if I hadn't already prepared myself for his solution to the 'final problem.'" Sherlock begun to turn away from John. "I know that you need time to let this all settle in. I'll be at the old flat if you need me." Sherlock all but ran away after that, leaving no time for John to stop him.


	4. To Fall Again

**Trigger Warning: Drug Use (Relapse!Lock)**

**Reminder: I don't own any rights to the BBC version of Sherlock our the likeness of the actors.**

* * *

John stared at where Sherlock had been standing mere moments ago, trying to comprehend everything that the man had said. _He risked everything to save Greg, Mrs. Hudson, and __**me**__. He sounded so heartbroken talking about that though. Maybe he really did regret what he did. __**What he had to do**__. I can't forgive him yet though. __**Not yet, but someday**__._

Sherlock went to 221B after he left John's. Mrs. Hudson already knew that he was alive, so he walked right in, not expecting to find Lestrade visiting her. Lestrade stared at him shocked before punching Sherlock in the face. Mrs. Hudson moved to block Lestrade from Sherlock. Sherlock clutched his face as Lestrade began to yell.

"What the hell Sherlock! You have done some really stupid things in the past, but this... This takes the case Sherlock. Do you know what your death did to John?" Sherlock stared at him with a sad expression. "It tore him apart Sherlock. It hurt all of us, but John... He couldn't get over it. We all moved on eventually, but he just couldn't get over your death Sherlock. And what? Now you think you can just walk back in? Like nothing ever happened?"

Sherlock's eyes began to water. "I saved your life, Mrs. Hudson's, and his! If I hadn't faked my death, I would have lost all of you! I couldn't... I couldn't lose John. Or any of you. I know how hurt he was, and trust me, I did everything I could to return as soon as I could."

Greg was surprised by the amount of emotion behind the broken man's words. _Sherlock... Oh how John has changed you. Helped you. Now, you're both so broken. So lost without the other. I hope you two can fix each other again. For everyone's sake. _

"Does John know?"

"I just told him before I returned here."

Greg nodded knowingly. _John didn't take it well then. From the looks of it, John punched him as well. Good._

"Now Lestrade, if you don't mind, I'd like to return to my flat and get settled back in." Sherlock left him and Mrs. Hudson there.

"They better get over this because if they don't..."

"I know Martha, it's going to be bad for everyone."

"I miss the old days. Before all of this happened." Greg nodded.

"So do I. So do I."

Sherlock entered the flat and looked around. _A lot of things are gone. Probably packed away somewhere. Mycroft did say something about needing to move boxes back into the flat._

Sherlock moved towards his old room, remembering something that Mrs. Hudson told him earlier. _John almost died in there. He almost died in my room while I was off fighting to keep him alive. I should've been there. I should've come back sooner. I should've-_

Sherlock fell onto his bed, mind racing. He wanted to make it stop. He wanted his mind to be silent. He brought his knees up to his chest and curled up into a ball. He felt tears stream down his face. _**You're weak Sherlock. Look at what you've become. A sobbing, emotional prick.**__ I'm fine. It's natural to feel like this Sherlock. You're heartbroken. It's fine. It's all fine. __**It's not fine though! You're not supposed to feel things like this. You're becoming weak with sentiment. **_

Sherlock wanted the voices in his head to stop fighting. He remembered where he had hidden a stash of cocaine solution a ways back and got up to find it. Luckily, it was still where he had put it. He got back up and sat down on the bed again. He prepared himself with practiced ease before pushing the needle into his skin and pushing the drug into his vein. He pulled out his phone and sent an apologetic text to John before slipping into a nice, blissful, drug hazed state. Little did he know that he couldn't handle the same amount of cocaine that he used to be able to years ago, right before he met John.

I'm sorry John. For everything. Forgive me. I've messed up again. -SH

Sherlock, are okay? JW

Sherlock, you're not responding. You always respond. JW

Sherlock! JW

Sherlock, I'm coming over. Please be okay. JW

Sherlock, please tell me that you're okay. JW

John got into the first taxi he could five minutes after the first text. It wasn't like Sherlock to not respond to his texts, even if he wanted space. He waited anxiously for the cab to reach Baker Street, once it did, his heart fell. Mrs. Hudson was standing right outside crying as paramedics wheeled out Sherlock on a gurney.

"Mrs. Hudson, what happened?" John yelled out as he sprinted out of the cab, after thrusting money at the cabbie.

"Sherlock... He almost overdosed. He must've had a hidden stash in his room. He took some, but it must have been too much for him after being sober for so long," Mrs. Hudson replied, turning to John and wrapping her arms around him. He simply wrapped his arms around the frail woman and tried to comfort her as he watched the ambulance drive away.

"Whe-... Where are they taking him?"

"St. Bart's."

John shivered slightly. "Right back to where he fell."

"John. Please go to him. Please. I've never seen him like this before. He's so lost and sad without you. I know that you can't forgive him yet, but he needs you," Mrs. Hudson looked up at him, her eyes pleading as tears streamed down her face. John looked down at her, his eyes filled with unshed tears.

"I will. I will go visit him. The idiot needs someone to yell at him," John said chuckling sadly. "I don't forgive him completely, but I can't stay away from him. Not if it is hurting both of us. Not if he's going to do something like this again."

"Thank you."


	5. Another Reunion of Sorts

John stood in front of the doors to St. Bart's for a long time before Molly came up to him. Molly had lost a bit of weight since he had last seen her at the funeral. She had always tried to keep in contact with him. Now he knew why, she was helping Sherlock. "John."

John turned to her and smiled wearily. "Hello Molly."

She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, her face speaking louder than her words. "He needs you."

"I know, but I just can't go in there. It's where... It's where I..."

"It's where you lost him the first time, and now you're worried that you're going to lose him again, right after getting him back."

"Yes." John let his tears finally fall. "I can't lose him again. Not yet. Before... Before I couldn't tell him. I thought that I had lost my chance to tell him then, but now... I want to tell him, but I don't know how."

Molly nodded understanding what John meant because she had watch the story of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Two men who were lost, found themselves in each other, fell in love but were too scared to say it, were separated and lost themselves again, and now reunited again, only to have things go wrong. The world seemed to be working against them, but they were an unstoppable force. Molly wanted to see them both be happy, and they could only be happy with each other.

"They pumped his stomach and he's stable. You have to go in John. I've watched you two ever since you two met. You need each other. More than you both can imagine," Molly finished talking before turning and walking back in.

John stood there for a while before walking in through the doors. He approached the front desk. "I'm here to see Sherlock Holmes."

The nurse at the desk looked at him. "Name?"

"John Watson." He waited as the nurse pulled out some list. _Mycroft must have given them a list of who can see him. _The nurse put the list down and nodded.

"He's in the ICU. His stomach's been pumped and he's stable. We don't normally allow non-family members in, but his brother Mycroft told us that they don't have much family and gave us a list of the closest people he has to family. You can go see him. Room 221," the nurse replied in a bored tone before returning to her paperwork. John shook his head at the irony.

"Thank you." John set off to find Sherlock's room, pausing briefly when he reached the door. He slowly opened it, and his heart fell at the site of Sherlock attached to so many machines. There was a chair next to the bed which John sat in. John wanted to reach out and grab Sherlock's hand, but instead he sat there watching him.

Eventually John began to talk to Sherlock's unconscious body. "Sherlock..."

John stayed there for the rest of the day, watching the doctors and nurses do their rounds, coming in and out of the room, checking on his vitals and medication.

"Are you Dr. Watson?" The last doctor asked him.

John was jarred out of his mind and looked up at the elderly doctor. "I am."

"I am Dr. Fields, I've been the Holmes family private doctor for years now. You can call me Thomas." Thomas offered out a hand to John, smiling curtly.

John took the offered hand and shook it. "Call me John. So you've been helping Sherlock for a long time?"

"I was there when he was born up until he met you. It wasn't until he had to fake his death that I even saw him again. He figured that since you were a doctor and his flatmate that it was easier to have you take care of him than me." Thomas sighed and looked over at Sherlock. "The first time he came to me after his 'death' was after getting rid of the first assassin. He had a knife wound across his abdomen and I helped to patch him up. He looked like hell. Just like he had during rehab."

John sat there listening to Thomas go on and on about Sherlock. He stared at Sherlock the whole time, wishing for him to wake up. "When will he wake up?"

Thomas looked at John sadly. "I don't know. It all depends on Sherlock really. He's usually come out of it by now, but I'm beginning to think that he's retreated into his mind palace this time. I'm worried about that."

John looked up at Thomas with sad eyes. "Oh." He sat there silently for a while. "Oh god. I think our argument when he came back may have set this off. Oh god." John buried his head in his hands. "It's all my fault."

Thomas watched the broken doctor and sighed. From what Sherlock had told him about John, the man cared deeply about. More then he had seen Sherlock care about anyone. Now he was watching this man care just as much about Sherlock. Thomas sighed and placed a hand on John's shoulder. "It's not your fault John. I'm sure Sherlock will come out of this and tell you the same."

John looked up at Thomas again with blurry eyes. "Thank you, but I can't believe. Not until he wakes up."

Thomas smiled weakly and nodded before leaving. John reached out and grabbed Sherlock's hand, giving it a small squeeze. He fell asleep in the chair, his hand clasped around Sherlock's.

Sherlock regained consciousness early the nest morning. His eyelids fluttered briefly before he opened his eyes, groaning at the light. It took a while before his eyes adjusted and he became aware of his surroundings. _Hospital. Great. The dose must have been too strong. It was stupid to do anyways. I shouldn't have done that. Wait, someone's holding my hand. Who's holding my hand?_

Sherlock looked over and his eyes widen when he saw John asleep in the chair. "John."

The sleeping man didn't wake up. Sherlock tried again, a little louder, his voice hoarse because of the medication. "John."

John slowly woke up and smiled when he saw that Sherlock had woken up. "Sherlock, you're awake."

"Nice to see that you're still as observant as before," Sherlock replied sarcastically. He squeezed John's hand softly, hoping that he would realize what he was doing.

John looked down and noticed that he was still holding Sherlock's hand. "Oh, sorry. Must've fallen asleep like that."

Sherlock nodded. "Right. Makes sense. Friends normally hold each others hand when one is unconscious."

John nodded, but still neglected to let go. His hand felt right there, and if Sherlock wouldn't let go, neither would John. They just sat there for a while, holding each others hand and staring at each other, the tension (whether it was sexual or emotional, we'll never know) in the room growing by the minute until they heard a knock at the door. They immediately let go of the others hand and looked at the door.

"Come in," Sherlock called out. Mycroft walked in with his usual air of self-importance hanging about him.

"Brother, please don't do that again. Mummy is most upset about it."

"Oh shut it Mycroft. Tell me that you didn't just come here to scold me because Mummy sent you."

"I didn't. I came here to talk to John."

John stopped looking at Sherlock and turned towards Mycroft. "You did?"

"Yes, now please come with me. This is not a conversation I'd like to have, nor do I think you want to have, in front of my dear brother."

Sherlock sat up in protest. "Oh posh! Like anything you'd want to talk about with John can't be said in front of me."

"That's what you may think dear brother, but on the contrary, I do have something to talk about with him that doesn't involve your insistent interruptions."

Sherlock was about to say something when John stopped him. "Right, we'll go out into the hall Mycroft."


	6. The Unsent Letter

**Sorry for the delay, but things have been very busy and I lost part of this chapter because I had hand written it. **

* * *

John followed Mycroft out to the hall, closing the door behind him. "What do you want Mycroft?"  
"You and my brother have an interesting relationship, Dr. Watson," Mycroft stated as he twirled his umbrella.  
"Yes, and?" John asked Mycroft.  
"He's changed since you two became flatmates. He stopped doing drugs completely, gave up smoking, actually began to show emotion... the list goes on. It pains me to have seen him give all that up during his 'death' and return like this." Mycroft shifts on his feet and looks around sighing.  
"Did you come here just to tell me this, or do you actually have a reason why you want to talk to me?"  
Mycroft pulls out an envelope from his coat pocket. "I wanted to give this to you. Sherlock gave this to me shortly after incident with the Woman, with instructions to give it to you when it seemed fit. I meant to give it you after his faked death, but some events occurred in some problematic countries that required my attention."  
John rolled his eyes and took the letter. "I'll be sure to read it sometime Mycroft."  
"I'd read it soon John," Mycroft stated before turning to leave. "Goodbye John."  
John watched as Mycroft and looked down at the envelope again. He decided to open it. Inside he found two small pieces of paper with Sherlock's spidery, cursive writing on it. He began to read the long letter.  
'_To: John Watson,_  
_I hope that you shall never see the contents of this letter. I have instructed Mycroft to hold onto this letter in case anything ever happens to me. If you are reading this, then I am sorry for any pain that I have caused you. I hope that this letter will bring you some comfort. I'm sorry for leaving you behind, but understand that I probably had no choice._  
_I'm sitting here in my room writing this letter on the day that you have informed me of the Woman's whereabouts. This whole confrontation with her has brought some things to light. For a while now, I have felt some form of attachment to you. Especially after the incident at the Pool with Moriarty. She told me something once, explaining my feelings for you. Before I tell you what she said, I want to tell you something. Even though I claim to be a sociopath, I am not. I am capable of feeling emotions, but I choose to ignore them in order to further the Work and finish it faster. Emotions have always slowed me down. Until now._  
_She told me that I feel sentiment towards you. Not to say in the least, she is completely correct. John Hamish Watson, I love you. Everything about you fascinates me. From your fascination with jumpers, to your worries about my eating and sleeping habits, to your attempts at cooking. I sit here sometimes and wonder why you are still living here with me, how you still deal with me. You always complain about the things I do, yet you never leave. At least, not for very long. You continue to live with me and help me solve cases._  
_Of all people, John you are the only one who I have lost the ability to deduce properly. I can deduce small things such as what you ate, or who you went out with, or what kind of razor you used that morning, but I can't deduce your feelings or thoughts on things. It fascinates and scares me that this is happening. I have never faced anything like this before. These emotions are new to me. I always want to see you happy, I worry about your safety, I want you near me all the time, and most of all, I never want you to leave me. The Woman told me that this is what love feels like._  
_I know that I probably will never tell you that I love you, so this letter will be my confession. I really hope that you never have to read this letter because a) I know that you could never reciprocate my feelings and b) this means that I had to leave you. I want you to promise me that you will always remember me and that you will look after Mrs. Hudson for me._  
_Forever yours,_  
_Sherlock Holmes_'  
Sherlock could hear strangled sobs coming from the hallway and detached himself from all of the medical equipment. He walked outside the door and found John sitting on the ground, the letter in his hands, sobbing. Sherlock sat down next to him and awkwardly wrapped his arms around John's shaking frame. "John."  
John could feel Sherlock's arms around him and leaned against him. "Mycroft just gave me your letter. Why did you never tell me this before?"  
"Because I was scared of you leaving if you found out about my feelings."  
John chuckled softly, "I was scared that you didn't feel the same because you always said that you were married to your work."  
Sherlock pulled away a bit and stared at John. "What do you mean John?"  
"The reason why you found me crying, even though you should be in bed, is because I feel the same for you Sherlock. I have for quite sometime. I thought that I had lost my chance to tell you when you jumped. When you came back and told me that you lied to save my life, I was angry. I felt betrayed. But I was mad at myself as well. I had visited your grave many times and pleaded for you to come back so I could tell you how I felt and the whole time you were alive off fighting to save my life," John replied, looking down at the floor as he wiped away his tears.  
Sherlock stared at John in shock. He never expected this from John whose mantra had been 'I'm not gay.' "John..."  
"Oh, shut up bugger." John lifted a hand to the back of Sherlock's neck and pulled him down into a soft kiss. Sherlock froze at first before relaxing into the kiss and kissing John back with a smile, making a small noise of complaint when John pulled away.  
"Sherlock Holmes, I love you, but if you ever pull a stunt like faking your own death or doing drugs again- I will kill you myself." Both John and Sherlock burst into laughter, only to hear Thomas cough at them.  
"I do believe that Mr. Holmes should be in his bed and not sitting on the floor." The men stared at each other before getting up and walking back into the hospital room. Sherlock sat down on the bed and Thomas examined him. "Sherlock, you do seem fit enough to leave now. I will go and tell them to have the release forms ready. Please do refrain from doing anymore reckless things. John, this is my card, just in case you need my help for any reason."  
John took the card that Thomas held out for him and smiled. "It was nice to meet you Dr. Fields."  
Thomas left and John turned to Sherlock. "Lets go home Sherlock."  
"Home? Does this mean you're coming back to 221B?" Sherlock asked hopeful.  
John grabbed Sherlock's hand and smiled. "Yes it does."

* * *

**Whew, busy chapter with those confessions. Anyways, the next chapter will feature Cas and more of Sherlock's story as an Angel of the Lord. But be patient because I have two tech weeks and finals coming up. **


	7. The Angel Sherlock

Sherlock was laughing with John when they entered the flat. He saw the outline of his brother and froze. John stared at the man and then at Sherlock.

"Hello? Do you know this person Sherlock?" John asked looking back and forth at the man and Sherlock.

The man turned around and smiled wryly. "Hello Sherlock."

"Cas, I trust that you're not here for a friendly visit."

"I'm afraid not. Does he know?"

Sherlock shook his head. "He does not. Go to our usual meeting place, I'll tell him while you wait and then join you."

"Tell me what?" John asked staring at Sherlock, he heard a sound of fluttering wings and looked at where Cas was standing just a minute ago. "What? Where did he just go? What's going on Sherlock?"

Sherlock sighed and gestured for John to sit down in his chair. Once they were seated, Sherlock took a deep breath before beginning his story.

"Cas is my brother, not Mycroft. I'm not related to the Holmes family in any way, they adopted me after I ran away from Heaven-"

"Heaven? You're joking right?"

"No. Cas and I are Angels of the Lord. We both belong to Heaven, but we both don't accept what Heaven has become. I ran away, while Castiel has decided to focus more on helping two of his charges, a pair of brothers in America," Sherlock said with a small smile. "When Cas disappeared, he had flown off to the place we normally meet up at in London."

John nodded a he took in the information. "So you're an angel?" Sherlock nodded. "Do you have wings?" Sherlock nodded again. "Can I see them?"

Sherlock stood up and focused on his wings, his eyes began to glow a bit as his wings became visible behind him, and he found it strange that it was taking less effort than normal to make them not only appear, but tangible as well. John came over and touched the wings.

"Amazing," John said as his finger grazed over the black feathers. "They're so soft and dark."

Sherlock bit his lip, it felt good to have someone touch his wings, and he had forgotten how sensitive they were. "Yes, they are."

"Are all like this?"

"No. Just mine, every angel has different wings. Cas's are a dark blue and fuller, my brother Gabriel's were a honey color and dove like, the list goes on."

"I see," John replied as he pulled his hand away from Sherlock's wings. "So this is how you survived…."

"Yes. I folded my wings around me, cocooning myself from any severe damage that would happen when I fell. I had blood packets strategically placed on myself to help make it seem more real. I had a member of the Homeless Network knock you over with a bike so others could help make the scene look more realistic," Sherlock replied as his wings 'disappeared.'

"But you had no pulse," John half-asked.

"Do you remember the rubber ball I had been using earlier that day?"

"Yes, but what does that…. You had it under your arm."

Sherlock nodded smiling. "Yes."

John sat back down in his chair and looked up at Sherlock. "Go meet up with your brother, we can talk more later."

Sherlock stared at John for a moment before walking over to him and leaning down to give him a brief kiss before flying off to meet up with Cas. John sat there in the now abandoned flat staring at the place where Sherlock had been standing. "I'm in love with an angel…. I think a need a cup of tea."

Sherlock landed on the roof of the HeronTower and stared at his brother. "Something's wrong with Heaven, isn't it?"

Cas nodded solemnly. "I have the Angel tablet. I'm being targeted by both Heaven and Hell."

Sherlock walked over so he was standing next to Cas and turned towards him. "You found it? And the Demon?"

"The Winchesters have it, well the Prophet does. They're almost done with the tasks. The Prophet is working on translating the last one."

"What are you going to do with the Angel tablet?" Sherlock asked, worried for Cas's safety.

"I'm going to keep it for now, but I don't know how long I can keep it with me. Crowley's and Naomi's people are getting close. I need your help, Selaphiel."

Sherlock shuddered at the use of his true name. "Castiel, you know I dislike that name."

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I need you help though," Cas replied turning towards Sherlock.

Sherlock stared at Cas. "What do you need?"

"I want to do something to your Grace, make it immune to any spells against it."

Sherlock stared at Cas curiously. "Why?"

"I have a bad feeling and I want to make sure that your Grace is safe," Cas replied sighing. "Will you let me do it?"

Sherlock just simply nodded at Cas and closed his eyes. Cas stretched out his hand and said some words in Enochian before lightly pressing his hands to Sherlock's chest, causing an odd sensation to bloom in Sherlock's body. Cas just stared up at Sherlock until Sherlock reopened his eyes.

"How does it feel?"

"Odd. Where did you learn that?"

"From Balthazar before he died," Cas replied, his face briefly showing his guilt from having killed Balthazar. Sherlock reached out and placed a sympathetic hand on Cas's shoulder.

"Well let's hope it never comes in handy. Do keep in touch Cas," Sherlock stated smiling at his little brother.

Cas's chuckled softly and nodded. "Goodbye Selaphiel."

"Goodbye Castiel," Sherlock replied before they before flew away.


End file.
